1

Feminine Fury and the Framework of Care: Unravelling Rage, Retribution, and the
Revolutionary Realms of Care-Based Justice in Ancient India

Neha Dimri

123102415: Gender and Social Categorisation in Ancient Indian Traditions

Prof. Jaya Tyagi

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Abstract: The cultural construction of anger has historically privileged masculine

expressions while systematically pathologizing and delegitimizing feminine rage. Within
patriarchal structures, male anger has been institutionalized through mechanisms of power—
manifesting in warfare, judicial authority, and disciplinary control—while female anger
has been dismissed as hysteria, irrationality, or emotional excess. This asymmetry,
reinforced by historical and psychological discourses, has ensured that women’s anger
remains depoliticized and subject to social regulation. Feminist scholarship critiques this
dichotomy, arguing that the suppression of feminine rage is central to patriarchal
discipline. However, contemporary theorists highlight its diverse manifestations, challenging
the notion that it is monolithic.

This study interrogates the historical containment of feminine rage, exploring its
potential as a transformative force within justice, resistance, and care ethics, as women
opposed, expressed, negotiated and held the patriarchal order: accountable, within the
context of Ancient India.

Key Words: feminine rage, gendered anger, patriarchy, hysteria, power structures, feminist
theory, emotional regulation, justice, care ethics, societal discipline, gender norms, political
resistance.

Introduction

The concept of anger has been deeply entrenched in linguistic, philosophical, and
socio-cultural traditions across civilizations. The English term "anger" derives from the
Old Norse "angr," connoting grief and affliction, later evolving to signify emotional
agitation or hostility. In Latin, "ira" refers to wrath, foundational to Western moral and
theological discourses on divine justice and human transgression. Sanskrit
conceptualizations, such as "krodha," align anger with the entanglements of desire and
attachment, emphasizing its role in moral and spiritual discipline within Brahmanical and
Buddhist traditions.

Philosophical discourse oscillates between the suppression and legitimization of

anger, particularly in gendered expressions. Classical Western thought—from Aristotle’s
articulation of "orge" (justified anger) as a rational response to injustice to the Stoic
advocacy for emotional restraint—frames anger as a force requiring modulation. Eastern
traditions engage with anger differently, focusing on self-regulation and cosmic
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equilibrium. Jainism and Buddhism advocate "ahimsa" (non-violence) and detachment,

positioning anger as a hindrance to enlightenment. Brahmanical narratives further
complicate this notion through the construct of "shakti," wherein rage is sacralised. The
goddess Kali, for instance, embodies rage as an instrument of justice, disrupting
patriarchal notions of female passivity. Her iconography—standing atop Shiva, tongue
outstretched, adorned with a garland of skulls—renders her rage transformative rather
than aberrant. Similarly, Chinnamasta presents an even more radical articulation of self-
consuming rage, severing her own head to nourish others.

Unlike Western portrayals that frame female anger as destabilizing, these

representations institutionalize feminine rage as a mechanism of justice and renewal.

Figure 1 Goddess Kali dances upon Shiva

Beyond South Asia, Tibetan Buddhism’s wrathful deities, such as Palden Lhamo,
channel destructive energy into enlightenment, while Daoist traditions feature
mythological female figures restoring harmony through righteous rage. These depictions

1
Vrindavan Art, Depiction of Goddess Kali Standing Over Lord Shiva, accessed March 27, 2025,
vrindavanart.com.
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challenge the notion that anger is inherently disruptive, instead positioning it as

necessary for equilibrium and justice.

The emergence of feminine rage as a distinct category raises critical questions. Unlike
male anger, often institutionalized as a right, feminine rage has been met with unease,
reduced to emotional excess or moral deviance. The expectation for women to forgive and
endure, rather than confront, is tied to "stridharma," emphasizing patience and sacrifice. 2

Yet, feminine rage has historically functioned as a tool of justice and transformation.

manifestations—direct confrontation, intellectual challenge, and strategic negotiation.

This study will explore how different expressions of feminine rage emerge, evolve, and
transition across various historical and cultural frameworks, highlighting its fluid and
adaptive nature. Such figures illustrate how anger operates not merely as an assertion of
selfhood but as a catalyst for social reckoning.

In an attempt to explore the intersection of feminine power, rage, and care ethics, we
shall be asking: How does feminine rage function as a tool of justice? How does anger
evolve into ethical, care-based justice rather than mere retribution? Feminist theorists
like Audre Lorde, Sara Ahmed, Judith Butler, Martha Nussbaum, Carol Gilligan,
Virginia Held, Gayatri Spivak, and Jaya Tyagi argue that anger and its constituting
elements are clarifying—a means of confronting injustice.

Yet, debates persist: Is rage the only valid feminist response, or do alternative
models of justice exist?

Feminine Rage in Scholarly Discourse

The discourse on feminine rage, agency, and justice spans multiple scholarly
traditions, drawing from philosophy, feminist theory, and religious studies. This section
examines key contributions from thinkers such as Aristotle, Seneca, Audre Lorde, Sara
Ahmed, Judith Butler, Jaya Tyagi, Martha Nussbaum, Carol Gilligan, Virginia Held,
and Gayatri Spivak, tracing the evolution of thought on female anger and its socio-
political implications.

2.1 Feminine Rage as a Disruptive Force Against Patriarchy

2
Jaya Tyagi, Contestation and Compliance: Retrieving Women's 'Agency' from Puranic Traditions (Oxford
University Press, USA, 2014)
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Audre Lorde’s essay The Uses of Anger (1981) reframes anger as a political tool
for marginalized groups, rejecting its association with hysteria.3 Sara Ahmed (The
Cultural Politics of Emotion, 2004) extends this argument, conceptualizing anger as a
collective force that demands recognition rather than suppression. 4 Both theorists
challenge the patriarchal discomfort with female rage and highlight its potential for
disrupting entrenched hierarchies.

2.2 Feminine Rage as a Catalyst for Gendered Subversion

Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble (1990) interrogates the performative nature of

gender and its constraints on expressions of power, including anger. This is particularly
relevant in analysing Amba’s reincarnation as Shikhandi, where vengeance is enacted
through a gender-fluid identity. Butler’s theory raises critical questions: Does Amba’s
transformation challenge patriarchy, or does it reinforce the necessity of masculinity for
legitimate rage?

2.3 Feminine Rage and Ethical Justice: Care vs. Retribution

Martha Nussbaum (Anger and Forgiveness, 2016) contends that emotions play a
crucial role in moral reasoning, a perspective that informs the contrast between
Draupadi’s legalistic pursuit of justice and Kannaki’s extra-institutional destruction.
She introduces the concept of transitional anger, arguing that transitional anger allows
individuals to move beyond immediate retribution towards justice that is reformative rather
than destructive.5 This is particularly relevant in examining how Draupadi’s anger
transforms from a personal vendetta into a demand for structural accountability, or
how Kannagi’s rage escalates into divine destruction.

Carol Gilligan (In a Different Voice, 1982) critiques traditional moral theories for
overlooking relational ethics, arguing that women’s anger and notion of ‘ethics’ often
incorporates care rather than mere retribution.6 Virginia Held (The Ethics of Care,

3
Audre Lorde, The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism (1981), in Sister Outsider: Essays and
Speeches (Berkeley: Crossing Press, 1984), 124–133.
4
Sara Ahmed, The Cultural Politics of Emotion (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2004).
5
Martha Craven Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2016).
6
Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1982).
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2006) further develops this perspective, suggesting that justice need not always be
adversarial but can be relational and restorative.7

2.4 Subalternity and Feminine Anger: Spivak’s Critique

Gayatri Spivak (Can the Subaltern Speak? 1988) critiques Western feminist
discourses that assume a universal female experience, arguing that marginalized women’s
voices are often erased or misinterpreted. 8 Her work is crucial in assessing how the
narratives of Draupadi, Kannagi, and Amba have been mediated through patriarchal
and colonial frameworks.

2.5 Jaya Tyagi’s Analysis of Women’s Agency in Religious Traditions

Jaya Tyagi’s work in Contestation and Compliance (2014) provides a crucial

perspective on women’s agency in religious traditions, focusing on how female figures
navigate patriarchal constraints while asserting their power. Tyagi argues that women’s
participation in religious and social institutions was often framed within the ideological
structures of pativratā dharma, which emphasized wifely devotion and sacrifice. However,
figures like Draupadi challenged these expectations by leveraging religious discourse to
demand justice. Tyagi highlights how Puranic traditions incorporated women within
ritualistic frameworks, allowing them to exercise influence as patrons of religious
observances. However, this participation was confined to domestic and moral spheres
rather than institutional authority. Draupadi’s invocation of dharma in the Kaurava court
exemplifies this paradox—while she asserts her agency, she does so within the moral
constraints of the epic rather than as an outright rejection of patriarchal norms.

By engaging with these scholars, this study situates feminine rage within a broader
intellectual tradition, demonstrating its enduring significance in both historical and
contemporary frameworks.

7
Virginia Held, The Ethics of Care: Personal, Political, and Global (New York: Oxford University Press,
2006).
8
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Die Philosophin 14, no. 27 (1988):
https://jan.ucc.nau.edu/~sj6/Spivak%20CanTheSubalternSpeak.pdf.
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Draupadi’s Tresses, Tangled in Wrath: A Vow Unveiled, A Kingdom’s

Path

“Women’s rage is a force of nature, one that disrupts, challenges, and transforms.” —
Rebecca Traister, Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger

Figure 2 Draupadi and the confrontation with Sabha

Whether in mythology, literature, or activism, the fury of women has functioned as

both a moment of reckoning and a catalyst for transformation. Draupadi, one of the most
formidable female figures in Indian epic literature, epitomizes this force in its most potent
form. As a woman of unparalleled intellect, resilience, and moral authority, she employs
her rage as both an assertion of selfhood and a direct challenge to patriarchal
hegemony.

Draupadi, the princess of Panchala and wife to the five Pandavas, transcends the
conventional archetype of the epic heroine. Born from the sacrificial fire, she is described
as radiant, dark-skinned, and fiercely intelligent. Her birth is itself symbolic—she is not

9
Folkloreum. Draupadi: The Unbroken Spirit Who Sparked the Mahabharata’s Greatest Conflict. Medium.
Accessed March 28, 2025. https://medium.com/folkloreum/draupadi-the-unbroken-spirit-who-sparked-the-
mahabharatas-greatest-conflict-66e40043eace.
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nurtured within a maternal womb but emerges fully formed, as though crafted by
destiny for a higher purpose. Her life, marked by profound trials, finds its most defining
moment in the Kaurava court, where she is publicly humiliated. This moment, rather than
breaking her, catalyses her transformation into an unyielding force for justice.

Draupadi’s defiance reaches its zenith during the infamous dice game, wherein
Yudhisthira gambles away his kingdom, his brothers, himself, and finally, Draupadi. Ordered
to be dragged into the court as a slave, she refuses to submit meekly, instead posing a
question that destabilizes the legitimacy of the entire assembly:

“What did you lose first, yourself or me?”

(Mahabharata, Sabha Parva 67.35).

This inquiry is not merely rhetorical—it is an incisive critique that exposes the
contradictions in Yudhisthira’s actions and forces the court to confront its moral bankruptcy.

As Kumkum Roy describes, the argument which is valid in her case is: Draupadi’s
resistance embodies the paradox of female agency in ancient Indian texts - while women
are afforded moments of immense power, they remain ensnared within male-dominated
governance. Even as she is subjected to male authority—whether through coerced
polyandry or her public humiliation—she subverts this control by transforming her suffering
into a clarion call for justice. Bhishma concedes,

“Because of the subtlety of dharma, I am unable to solve your question the proper
way.”10

His hesitation underscores how Draupadi’s rage exposes the limitations of patriarchal
jurisprudence.

Her invocation of dharma is particularly significant. Rather than outright rejecting the
system, she demands its highest moral integrity. This aligns with Simone de Beauvoir’s
argument in The Second Sex that patriarchal systems grant women selective power only
when they conform to established gender norms. 11 Draupadi, however, dismantles this
pretense, turning dharma itself into a weapon against oppression.

10
www.wisdomlib.org, “Adi Parva [Book 1] [Mahabharata, English],” March 30, 2020,
https://www.wisdomlib.org/hinduism/book/the-mahabharata-mohan/d/doc374926.html.
11
Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex, trans. Constance Borde and Sheila Malovany-Chevallier (New York:
Vintage Books, 2011)
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Audre Lorde, in The Uses of Anger (1981), articulates anger as a legitimate and
necessary political response to systemic oppression, contending that it should neither be
suppressed nor diluted to conform to patriarchal expectations. She asserts, “Not to fear
it, not to cover it over with excuses or to tap dance it into mediocrity,” emphasizing the
necessity of acknowledging anger in its full intensity. This framework resonates with
Draupadī’s portrayal in the Mahābhārata, wherein her rage remains an
uncompromising force for justice, unmediated by expectations of reconciliation or
restraint, thereby reinforcing Lorde’s assertion that women’s expressions of anger must
be legitimized rather than subdued.

Similarly, Draupadi’s fury is not expressed through lamentation or helplessness but

through a piercing confrontation with injustice. When she casts her fiery gaze upon the
silent Pandavas, “they hurt them more than the loss of kingdom or riches.” Her anger serves
not only as a personal assertion of agency but as a broader refusal to be erased from the
historical and ethical discourse.

Alf Hiltebeitel highlights Draupadi’s unbound hair as a potent symbol of social

disruption. When Duhsasana drags her by the hair, it is more than a physical assault—it is an
attempt to strip her of dignity and subjectivity. In response, Draupadi utters a vow that
will shake the very foundations of the Kaurava dynasty:

“I will not tie my hair until it is washed in Duhsasana’s blood.”12

This oath transforms her rage into a tangible, public declaration of justice, ensuring that her
humiliation will not be forgotten or dismissed.

Draupadi’s unbound hair represents a direct challenge to the established order.13

In the patriarchal framework of the epic, a woman’s loose hair signifies both mourning
and defiance. Draupadi’s refusal to bind her hair until vengeance is secured is not merely an
act of personal retribution—it signifies the very collapse of dharma in the Kaurava court.
Her hair, which should remain neatly tied in accordance with societal norms, instead becomes
an emblem of unfinished justice and a visual marker of the disorder wrought by
unchecked male hubris.

12
Alf Hiltebeitel, Rethinking the Mahabharata (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001)
13
Ibid.
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Kannagi’s Conflagration: Fury, Fidelity, and the Fall of Madurai

“I am not a goddess, nor am I a demon—I am a chaste woman whose anger burns down
kings and kingdoms alike.”

- Kannagi, Silapadikaram

14

Figure 3 Kannagi in the court of Court of Madurai King

In a similar fashion, Kannagi, the formidable heroine of Silappadikaram, embodies

both boundless devotion and unrelenting justice, making her one of the most compelling
figures in Tamil literature. Her transformation from a grieving widow to a force of cosmic
retribution highlights the power of feminine rage—not as mere emotion, but as an
assertion of moral authority. Yet, while her wrath consumes Madurai’s injustices, it also
highlights the tragic constraints imposed on women within patriarchal narratives.

At the heart of Kannagi’s story is her unwavering love for Kovalan. She endures his
betrayal, poverty, and wrongful execution, yet never wavers in her loyalty. When
Kovalan chooses another woman, she does not curse him but remains steadfast. Even after
his death, her grief is not one of helpless lamentation but of righteous fury:

14
Tamilvalarpom. Silappadhikaram – The Story of Kannagi. Accessed March 28, 2025.
https://tamilvalarpom.com/silappadhikaram/.
4o
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"The king, in whose realm dharma is upheld, has killed a blameless man. Let him see what
I shall do!"

- Silappadikaram

Her love is not passive; it fuels her demand for justice. She walks into the king’s
court, holding Kovalan’s anklet as irrefutable proof of his innocence, standing as his
voice even when he is silenced.

Yet, when institutional justice fails, Kannagi’s love transforms into divine rage. The
moment the king dies of remorse, she does not stop—she looks beyond individual guilt and
holds an entire system accountable.

"The city that has taken my husband’s life shall not stand!"

- Silappadikaram

She declares, setting Madurai ablaze in an act of absolute justice. This destruction
is not mindless revenge but a cosmic epiphany against a world that denied an innocent man
his dignity. Sara Ahmed’s insight that "anger demands acknowledgment, but its outcomes
remain unpredictable" is crucial here. Kannagi’s wrath forces recognition of systemic
failure, yet its cost is total devastation.

Her fury is revolutionary, but it also reveals the limitations placed on women’s
agency. Despite her godlike power, Kannaki’s actions remain tethered to her role as a
wife. She avenges Kovalan, not herself.

Her lament after Madurai’s destruction—

"Oh, my lord, my love, I have avenged your death! But what is left for me now?

- Silappadikaram

This exposes a painful truth: her identity is consumed by her husband’s fate. Unlike male
heroes, who emerge stronger after battles, Kannagi is left with ‘nothing’. The same
patriarchal forces she defies ultimately leave her without a future, forcing her into
isolation.

This paradox does not diminish her heroism but deepens it. Audre Lorde argues that
"anger is a source of energy, and when focused, it can become a force for change."
Kannagi embodies this principle, proving that feminine rage can shake empires. Yet her story
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also warns that without a space for women to channel their power beyond male-centred
narratives, their struggles often end in exile. Kannaki’s justice is supreme, but it does not
liberate her. Instead, she vanishes, her legacy preserved in legend—both feared and
revered. Hers is a story of love, loss, and the indomitable force of a woman who burned a
city—not out of destruction, but devotion.

If Kannagi’s rage is a fiery reckoning, seeking divine validation, Amba’s anger is

colder, more calculated, demanding personal retribution. While Draupadi’s fury operates
within the framework of dharma, seeking institutional restoration, Amba’s transformation
into Shikhandi marks a different kind of resistance—one that subverts gendered power
structures to exact long-delayed justice.

Amba’s Anguish, Shikhandi’s Struggle: Rage, Retribution, and the Limits

of Justice

“I was a woman with a name, but now, I am a woman with a vow. My rage will be my only
justice.”

15

Figure 4 Pandavas and Kauravas fighting, Mahabharata (Bhishma Parva)

Amba’s personal humiliation transforms into colossal vengeance, emphasizing the

notion that anger, rather than being a transient emotion, can function as a potent catalyst for
political and social change. Her rejection of societal constraints—instead of seeking

15
Scroll.in. Mahabharata. Accessed March 28, 2025. https://scroll.in/tag/mahabharata.
 13

justice within patriarchal frameworks, she transcends them through Shikhandi’s

ambiguous gender identity. Shikhandi stands as one of the most enigmatic figures in the
epic—a reincarnated soul born into a body that defies conventional gender classifications.
Having been denied justice in her previous life, Amba is reborn as Shikhandi, destined to
play a pivotal role in the downfall of Bhishma, the very man responsible for her suffering.

Amba’s anger originates from her forced abduction by Bhishma and the
subsequent denial of her agency by both King Salwa and the Kuru elders. However,
Amba’s fury is marked by an increasing tilt towards hatred rather than ethical anger.
Feminist theorists differentiate between anger as a mobilizing force for justice and hatred as a
consuming force that often leads to destruction without transformation. According to the
feminist readings, anger can be constructive when it maintains a connection to ethical
reasoning, whereas hatred isolates and perpetuates eternal woe,

However, Amba’s rage, rather than being directed toward systemic change,
becomes singularly focused on Bhishma, transforming into an all-consuming hatred
that dictates her very existence. Deprived of her right to choose her future, she becomes a
figure of defiance, rejecting societal expectations of submission. In a moment of
impassioned lamentation, she exclaims:

“Cursed be Bhishma! Cursed be my own wretched father of foolish understanding…

Cursed be my creator too! Cursed be they through whose fault such great misery has been
mine!”

Udyoga Parva, Adhyāya 183, Verses 5–8.

This expression of rage is neither arbitrary nor self-destructive; rather, it serves

as a foundation for action. In The Cultural Politics of Emotion, Ahmed asserts that anger
provides the necessary momentum for political transformation. Amba embodies this
principle—her rage is not passive suffering but an active pursuit of retribution. Yet,
unlike Draupadi’s invocation of dharma, Amba’s anger is consumed by an intense fixation
on personal revenge, shifting the discourse from systemic justice to individual hatred.

Shikhandi’s masculinity is a strategic necessity rather than an inherent identity.

Judith Butler’s theory of gender performativity highlights the paradox in Amba’s
transformation—does she truly subvert patriarchy, or does she conform by adopting
masculinity to exact justice? Her vengeance is not recognized within her female identity,
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forcing her to embody male-coded power. This raises a crucial tension: is Shikhandi’s
gender an assertion of non-binary agency, or does it merely reinforce the notion that
justice is attainable only through the male body?

Kumkum Roy, in The Power of Gender and the Gender of Power, critiques such
narratives, arguing that while epic heroines wield power, they do so within male-dominated
frameworks. Amba’s reincarnation exemplifies this paradox—her ability to challenge
Bhishma is contingent upon her reclassification as male, highlighting how patriarchal
structures restrict female agency. Even in vengeance, she must operate within the very
system that denied her justice, reinforcing rather than dismantling the privileges
associated with masculinity.16

Martha Nussbaum’s distinction between "ethical anger" and "blind vengeance" is

particularly relevant here. Ethical anger, according to Nussbaum, seeks rectification
and systemic change rather than mere retaliation. Amba’s transformation into
Shikhandi aligns with this notion. Unlike Bhima’s visceral, immediate revenge against
Duhsasana, Amba’s retribution unfolds over lifetimes, suggesting a deeper engagement
with justice beyond personal vengeance. Yet, care justice would suggest that justice need
not always emerge through punitive destruction, but also through collective repair and
recognition of suffering. If Amba’s suffering had been acknowledged and rectified within
her own lifetime, could the cycle of vengeance have been avoided? This question forces us
to reconsider how justice, particularly for women, is often delayed, distorted, or rendered
unattainable without extreme sacrifice.

Shikhandi’s role in Bhishma’s downfall represents delayed but inevitable justice.

Though he does not strike the fatal blow, his ambiguous gender identity ensures Bhishma’s
defeat by exploiting his vow never to fight a woman. Krishna’s strategy weaponizes
Bhishma’s rigid adherence to patriarchal honour, turning Shikhandi into an instrument of
justice.

16
Kumkum Roy, The Power of Gender and the Gender of Power: Explorations in Early Indian History (New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2010).
 15

Gargi’s Grit: Feminine Force and the Fight for Knowledge

“Woman must not accept; she must challenge. She must not be awed by that which has
been built up around her; she must reverence that woman in her which struggles for
expression.”

— Margaret Sanger

Figure 5 Gargi and the debate with Yajnavalkya

If Amba and Shikhandi embody justice pursued through transformation and

vengeance, the Upanishadic tradition offers a contrasting yet equally radical form of
resistance. Gargi Vācaknavī, a philosopher-sage, challenges patriarchal authority not
through physical confrontation but through intellectual subversion. Unlike figures who seek
justice through retribution or moral outrage, Gargi’s defiance demonstrates that justice is not
solely achieved through destruction or institutional recognition but can also emerge
from the radical assertion of intellectual agency. Her story broadens the discourse on
feminine resistance, illustrating that the pursuit of justice can take many forms—whether
through vengeance, defiance, or the power of knowledge itself.

Gargi’s presence in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad is a direct challenge to patriarchal

knowledge systems, aligning with Spivak’s argument in Can the Subaltern Speak? that
women’s voices are systematically erased from epistemic spaces. By engaging in direct
debate with Yājñavalkya, one of the most revered sages of her time, she disrupts this
erasure. Her confrontation is not merely an academic exercise—it is a strategic assertion of
authority in a male-dominated intellectual space. She equates her philosophical battle with
warfare, declaring:
 16

"As a warrior from Benares or the King of Videha, stringing an unstrung bow and
standing prepared with two sharpened arrows, even so do I challenge thee with two
questions. Answer me, Yājñavalkya!"17

This framing transforms debate into an act of defiance, demonstrating that knowledge
is not neutral but inherently political. Foucault’s theories on power and discourse become
relevant here—by engaging in philosophical inquiry, Gargi reclaims intellectual authority in a
tradition that often-positioned women as passive recipients of knowledge rather than active
participants.18

Her persistent questioning of Yājñavalkya echoes Judith Butler’s argument on

gender performativity in Gender Trouble. Butler suggests that disrupting dominant
narratives is itself an act of resistance. Gargi performs this disruption through relentless
inquiry, refusing to conform to the expected silence of women in Vedic discourse. Despite
Yājñavalkya’s warning that further questioning could lead to metaphorical decapitation, she
persists:

"O Yājñavalkya, by what is that pervaded which is above heaven and below the earth,
which is this heaven and earth as well as between them, and which they say was, is, and
will be?"19

This moment exemplifies Simone de Beauvoir’s assertion in The Second Sex that
women who challenge male authority are often dismissed or punished, not for a lack of
knowledge, but for daring to engage in intellectual spaces reserved for men. By refusing
to be silenced, Gargi embodies de Beauvoir’s concept of the "independent woman”.20

Her final exchange with Yājñavalkya reinforces this defiance. Though she ultimately
acknowledges his answers, she does so on her own terms:

"I bow to you, Yājñavalkya, who have fully answered this question of mine. Now be ready f

17
Maharajnisargadatta.com, “A Dialog between Gargi and Yajnavalkya from Brihadaranyaka Upanishad,”
2025, https://maharajnisargadatta.com/dialog_between_gargi_yajnavalkya.php.
18
Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York:
Vintage Books, 1995.
19
Maharajnisargadatta.com, “A Dialog between Gargi and Yajnavalkya from Brihadaranyaka Upanishad,”
2025, https://maharajnisargadatta.com/dialog_between_gargi_yajnavalkya.php.
20
She describes the term as someone who does not accept preordained roles but instead claims the right to
define her own intellectual existence.
 17

or the other question."21

Here, her agency remains intact—she dictates the course of engagement, refusing
to concede defeat.

Spivak’s analysis of subaltern agency is pertinent: while Gārgī does not overturn the
structure of patriarchal knowledge systems, she ensures that her voice is heard within
them. Her defiance serves as a reminder that intellectual spaces must accommodate
feminine wisdom, rather than relegate it to the margins.

Moreover, Gargi’s intellectual defiance aligns with Virginia Held’s Ethics of Care,
which argues that power is not solely exercised through domination but also through the
ability to redefine discourse. Unlike figures who challenge patriarchy through direct
confrontation, Gargi subverts epistemic authority itself, demonstrating that resistance
can take the form of philosophical disruption.

Gargi’s resistance demonstrates that justice is not solely about confrontation or

destruction but can also emerge through the radical act of questioning, proving that
knowledge itself can serve as a powerful tool of feminist resistance.

Damayanti’s Daring: Patience, Persuasion, and the Power of Care

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent
will.”

— Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

21
Ibid.
 18

22

Figure 6 Damayanti Talking to the Celestial Swan about Nala by Raja Ravi Varma

The Mahabharata presents Damayanti as a figure of remarkable resilience and

intelligence, whose justice does not rely on vengeance or divine wrath but rather on patience,
wisdom, and emotional acumen. Damayanti’s resistance is quiet yet equally transformative.
Her story challenges the assumption that power must always manifest through force,
revealing the radical potential of care-driven justice.

From the outset, Damayanti asserts her autonomy in ways that defy traditional
expectations. Unlike many heroines in Indian epics, whose fates are dictated by male
authority, she exercises her own agency in choosing Nala as her husband through a
Swayamvara. This act establishes her as a woman who does not passively accept decisions
imposed upon her. Her intelligence is further demonstrated when she discerns Nala from the
divine suitors who take on his form, an early indication of her ability to navigate
complex situations with keen judgment. However, her greatest test comes later, when
Nala, under the influence of Kali, abandons her in the wilderness.

This moment of betrayal could have left her powerless, but Damayanti refuses to be
defined by her suffering. Rather than succumbing to despair or seeking vengeance, she
embarks on a determined journey to reclaim her husband and restore justice. Her
approach to adversity aligns with Martha Nussbaum’s concept of ethical anger, which
distinguishes between destructive rage and constructive moral action. Damayanti’s anger is

22
Fine Art America. Hamsa Damayanti – Ravi Varma. Accessed March 28, 2025.
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/hamsa-damayanti-ravi-varma.html?product=tapestry.
 19

internalized, measured, and strategic. As Nussbaum argues, ethical anger is "not about
payback but about a commitment to justice and repair." Damayanti embodies this principle,
ensuring that her actions do not perpetuate harm but instead foster resolution.

Her confrontation with Nala reflects this philosophy. Rather than condemning him
outright, she appeals to his conscience, forcing him to acknowledge his wrongdoing:

"Renowned, wise, high-born, and endowed with the capacity for compassionate
utterance (sānukrośa), thou hast become devoid of mercy (niranukrośa); I fear my
destiny shall perish."23

This statement is not a plea for mercy but a deliberate invocation of moral
responsibility. Her words compel Nala to recognize the depth of his transgression,
highlighting the transformative potential of ethical persuasion. Virginia Held’s Ethics of
Care provides a useful framework for understanding Damayanti’s approach—rather than
viewing justice solely in terms of punishment, she prioritizes relational accountability and
moral rehabilitation. Unlike figures who demand retribution, Damayanti creates the
conditions for Nala to redeem himself, ensuring that justice is restorative rather than
punitive.

However, Damayanti’s story raises deeper feminist questions—why is patience often

coded as a feminine virtue? Is her restraint a form of agency, or does it reinforce
patriarchal ideals that expect women to endure suffering without resistance?

Carol Gilligan suggests that women’s moral reasoning is often framed in

relational rather than adversarial terms, leading them to seek reconciliation rather than
conflict. Damayanti, however, does not merely conform to these expectations; she subverts
them by using care as a tool of justice rather than as a means of submission. Her patience
is not passivity—it is a calculated response that allows her to reclaim agency within a
system that often denies it to women.

Her ability to navigate complex emotional and political landscapes is further

demonstrated in her strategy for reuniting with Nala. Instead of publicly exposing his
downfall, she orchestrates events so that he can reclaim his throne on his own terms.
This aligns with Gayatri Spivak’s argument that subaltern agency often operates through

23
Internet Archive, “Nalopákhyanam. Story of Nala, an Episode of the Mahábhárata. The Sanskrit Text, with a
Copious Vocabulary and an Improved Version of Dean Milman’s Translation: Monier-Williams, Monier, Sir,
1819–1899,” 2025, https://archive.org/details/nalopkhyanamst00moniuoft/page/48/mode/2up.
 20

indirect means, subtly altering power structures without outright confrontation. By

working within the boundaries of the existing system, Damayanti ensures that justice is
achieved without disrupting the broader social order in a way that could disempower her
further.

When comparing Damayanti’s justice with that of Draupadi and Kannagi, we see
how different modes of feminine resistance operate. Draupadi’s anger is direct and
confrontational, forcing the Kaurava court to acknowledge injustice. Kannagi’s wrath
is absolute, obliterating an entire city in response to her husband’s wrongful execution.
In contrast, Damayanti’s justice is rooted in patience and intellect. She does not destroy or
publicly challenge, but neither does she passively accept her suffering—her quiet
persistence and strategic thinking allow her to restore balance without resorting to
vengeance.

Savitri’s Subtle Strength: Negotiation, Nurturance, and the Power of

Persuasion

"The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any." —
Alice Walker

24

Figure 7 Savitri and Satyavan: Negotiations with Yama

The Mahabharata presents a spectrum of feminine agency, ranging from Draupadi’s

defiant rage to Damayanti’s strategic resilience. Savitri, however, exemplifies a unique form

24
Dharma Sansar. Vat Savitri. Accessed March 28, 2025. https://www.dharmsansar.com/2018/05/vat-
savitri.html.
 21

of resistance—one that does not rely on confrontation but on negotiation, intellect, and
unwavering moral resolve.

Savitri’s narrative begins with an assertion of autonomy rare in ancient epics: she
is granted the right to choose her own husband. As King Aśvapati instructs her,

“Daughter, the time for bestowing thee is come! Yet none asketh thee. Do thou
thyself seek for a husband equal to thee in qualities!” 25

This act of self-selection challenges patriarchal norms that typically subject women
to arranged marriages. However, her autonomy is immediately circumscribed by fate—
her chosen husband, Satyavān, is doomed to die within a year.

Rather than resisting this preordained tragedy through lamentation or rebellion,

Savitri responds with calculated endurance. She aligns herself with dharma through ascetic
practice, preparing for the moment she must confront death itself. Her approach exemplifies
what Gilligan and Held describe as care ethics—a form of moral reasoning that prioritizes
relational interdependence and strategic intervention over retributive justice.

Martha Nussbaum differentiates between retributive anger, which seeks vengeance,

and ethical anger, which channels moral outrage into constructive action.26 Savitri
embodies the latter. When Yama arrives to claim Satyavān’s soul, she does not curse him or
defy him outright; instead, she follows him, engaging him in philosophical discourse. She
questions the nature of dharma and righteousness, compelling Yama to acknowledge her
reasoning.

Her rhetorical strategy forces Yama into a position of moral discomfort, leading him
to grant her multiple boons. Yet she does not immediately demand Satyavān’s life. Instead,
she secures his father’s lost kingdom, restores her in-laws’ sight, and ensures the
prosperity of her future lineage. Only after these conditions are met does she manoeuvre
Yama into a position where he must return Satyavān to her. This calculated negotiation

25
MahabharataOnline.com, “Mahabharata Vana Parva - Translation by KM Ganguly | Mahabharata Stories,
Summary and Characters from Mahabharata,” 2025,
https://www.mahabharataonline.com/translation/mahabharata_03291.php.
26
Retributive Anger: A form of anger aimed at punishment or revenge for a perceived wrongdoing.
; Ethical Anger: A morally driven anger that arises in response to injustice or ethical violations, motivating
action for change.
 22

reflects the strategic power of ethical anger—rather than retaliating against Yama’s
authority, she reconfigures it to serve her purpose.

Despite Savitri’s intellectual defiance, her narrative is deeply entrenched in

patriarchal ideals of womanhood. Her virtue is rooted in her unwavering pativrata (wifely
devotion), reinforcing the notion that a woman’s greatest power lies in her self-
sacrificial commitment to her husband. Even as she outwits Yama, she does so not for
personal liberation but to restore the marital order.

Nevertheless, Gayatri Spivak provides a critical lens through which to view Savitri’s
agency. Spivak argues that women’s voices in male-dominated spaces are often co-opted to
reinforce existing power structures. Savitri’s triumph over death, while remarkable,
ultimately upholds rather than subverts patriarchal norms. She gains power, but only within
the constraints of wifely duty. In this sense, her story, while a testament to female
intelligence and endurance, remains an example, as previously mentioned, of what Judith
Butler terms gender performance—Savitri’s actions are radical, yet they never threaten
the patriarchal framework in which they operate.

Savitri’s story challenges the notion that feminine power must be aggressive or
overtly revolutionary to effect change. Her resistance is not marked by confrontation but by
an unyielding moral and intellectual force that compels Yama to bend to her will. While
her narrative remains bound to patriarchal ideals, her ability to negotiate within these
confines reveals the radical potential of care-based justice.

Sulabhā’s Sovereign Speech: Feminine Strength, Scholarly Struggle, and

the Search for Justice

"The highest activity a human being can attain is learning for understanding, because to
understand is to be free." — Baruch Spinoza
 23

Figure 8 Rishika Sulabha in the court of King Janaka

Sulabhā’s debate with King Janaka is not merely a philosophical discourse; it is

an assertion of feminine epistemic authority in a space where knowledge is monopolized
by men. Unlike other women in the epic who assert power through familial or political roles,
Sulabhā enters the realm of metaphysical reasoning and triumphs through sheer
intellectual acumen.

Sulabhā, a female ascetic, hears of King Janaka’s reputation as a philosopher-

king and decides to test the validity of his claim to spiritual enlightenment. Instead of
engaging him in conventional dialogue, she employs her yogic abilities to enter his
consciousness, an act that symbolically asserts her intellectual authority:

"Restraining, by means of the rays of light that emanated from her own eyes, the rays
issuing from the eyes of the king, the lady, desirous of ascertaining the truth, bound up
King Janaka with Yoga bonds."27

This act disrupts the hierarchical order where kings and sages are the sole
arbiters of wisdom. By challenging Janaka on his own terms—through direct cognitive
engagement—Sulabhā claims an authoritative space that is rarely granted to women in
patriarchal epistemic traditions. This aligns with Spivak’s critique in Can the Subaltern
Speak? where she argues that women’s voices are often silenced within structures of
knowledge production. Sulabhā, however, refuses to be marginalized—her very mode of
engagement reconfigures traditional power dynamics.

27
Ruth Vanita, “The Self Is Not Gendered: Sulabha’s Debate with King Janaka,” NWSA Journal 15, no. 2
(2003): 76–93, https://doi.org/10.2307/4316972.
 24

Janaka, despite his reputation as a philosopher, reacts with hostility, revealing his
discomfort with a woman occupying a space of intellectual authority. Instead of engaging
Sulabhā’s arguments, he attempts to reduce her act of yogic inquiry to an act of
seduction:

"Thou livest in the practice of those duties that lead to Emancipation. I live in the domestic
mode of life. This act of thine is another evil thou hast done, for it produces an unnatural
union of two opposite modes of life."28

His response exemplifies what Butler describes in Gender Trouble as the policing of
gendered boundaries.29 Janaka perceives Sulabhā’s intellectual defiance as an existential
threat to patriarchal norms. By equating her philosophical intervention with sexual
impropriety, he seeks to discipline her into submission. His insistence on knowing whose
she is—

"Who are you, whose are you, and where have you come from? "

This instance further underlines the patriarchal logic that refuses to recognize women as
autonomous intellectual agents.

Sulabhā’s response dismantles Janaka’s gendered assumptions by invoking a

philosophical argument that transcends bodily distinctions. She asserts that the ātman
(self) is beyond gender and social identity, and that his very insistence on seeing her as a
woman rather than as a seeker of truth reveals his own limitations:

"As lac and wood, as grains of dust and drops of water, exist commingled when brought
together, even so are the existences of all creatures."

This argument aligns with concept of ethical universalism.30 Sulabhā exposes the
contradiction in Janaka’s supposed enlightenment—if he were truly free from attachment
and ego, he would not differentiate between male and female interlocutors. Her victory
in the debate is not merely rhetorical but ideological; she forces Janaka into silence,
proving that knowledge is not contingent on gender.

28
Ibid.
29
Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1990).
30
The belief that moral principles are universally applicable to all individuals, regardless of culture, context, or
personal beliefs.
 25

Despite her triumph, Sulabhā’s experience reflects the broader feminist critique of
epistemic violence—the systemic exclusion of women from authoritative discourse.
Spivak’s argument that women’s intellectual contributions are often erased or appropriated is
evident in the marginalization of Sulabhā’s story within mainstream interpretations of the
Mahābhārata. While she silences Janaka, her victory does not translate into systemic
change; she remains an anomaly rather than a model for institutionalized feminine
intellectual agency. Her ability to win a debate does not dismantle the structures that
necessitate such battles in the first place. This tension reflects the paradox of women’s
resistance in patriarchal societies—intellectual triumphs may be acknowledged, but
they rarely translate into structural transformation.

Concluding remarks

"Justice is the constant and perpetual will to allot to every man his due." –
Justinian I.

31

Figure 9 "The Reluctant Bride" by Auguste Toulmouche, a 19th-century French painter known for his depictions of elegant
women in luxurious interiors.32

31
Sotheby’s. 19th Century European Art – Lot 135. Accessed March 28, 2025.
https://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2005/19th-century-european-art-n08085/lot.135.html.
32
The Reluctant Bride reflects feminine rage through silent resistance, suppressed agency, and societal coercion
rather than overt defiance.
 26

While this definition of justice has long been interpreted within patriarchal
frameworks, a feminist reimagining necessitates the inclusion of women's autonomy in
determining their own forms of justice. The examination of feminine rage and justice within
ancient Indian literature illuminates upon the complexities of women’s anger and agency,
the anxieties surrounding it, and the tension between feminine rage, care ethics and
retributive justice.

Agency remains central to this discourse, as it determines the extent to which women
can navigate justice through their rage on their own terms rather than within male-
dominated structures. Traditionally, women’s responses to injustice have been framed either
as self-sacrificing care or uncontrollable rage, both of which serve to regulate their actions
rather than grant them autonomy. However, Ahmed and Lorde contend that feminine anger
is often dismissed as irrational, yet it is a legitimate force of resistance and
transformation. Nussbaum further critiques the assumption that anger must necessarily lead
to destruction, arguing instead for "transitional anger"—an anger that fuels justice without
perpetuating cycles of violence. By allowing women to decide how they seek justice—whether
through intellectual defiance, negotiation, or retributive means—a truly feminist
framework upholds agency as its foundational principle.

However, the very notion of women’s agency provokes anxieties in patriarchal

societies. Ancient Indian texts, primarily authored by men, often frame powerful women as
anomalies rather than representatives of a broader reality. Jaya Tyagi, in her analysis of gender
in early Indian texts, highlights how women’s agency is often portrayed in a controlled
manner—either through divine endorsement, as in the case of Savitri, or within the
constraints of dharma, as with Draupadi’s vengeance. The portrayal of Gargi as an
intellectual challenger to Yajnavalkya in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, for instance, is a
rare acknowledgment of female wisdom, yet it remains an exception rather than a norm.

Furthermore, the debate between retributive and care-based justice remains crucial in
feminist re-theorizations of justice. While vengeance has been a historically visible form of
resistance, care ethics, often dismissed as passive or patriarchal, can also function as a
radical intervention. Care-based justice does not inherently equate to submission; rather, it
offers an alternative form of resistance that prioritizes healing and transformation. This
perspective aligns with Ahmed’s argument that feminist resistance involves disrupting
emotional scripts, not simply rejecting them. In this sense, justice need not be limited to
 27

legal or punitive measures; it can also emerge from intellectual resistance, social repair, and
strategic negotiation.

Ultimately, the reconceptualization of feminine justice in ancient Indian literature—

and beyond—must move beyond binaries. Women should not be forced to choose between
vengeance and care, but rather be allowed to exercise full autonomy in navigating their justice-
seeking strategies.

A woman’s fury, like the tides, cannot be contained; it is a force of nature,

reshaping the very landscapes of oppression.

As intersectional feminist thought suggests, a singular model of justice is inadequate,

given the varied lived experiences of women across caste, class, and historical contexts. A truly
feminist approach to justice must thus be pluralistic, context-dependent, and above all,
defined by women themselves rather than by patriarchal dictates. Only then can justice
fulfil its true purpose—not as a rigid, externally imposed structure, but as a dynamic force
shaped by those who seek it.

As Audre Lorde aptly states, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's
house." True justice requires not only the dismantling of patriarchal constraints but also the
reimagining of justice itself on feminist terms. Or as Kannagi’s wrathful cry before the
burning city of Madurai suggests, "A woman’s fury, once unleashed, knows no bounds, for
it carries the weight of centuries of injustice."
 28

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